A Different Beginning
by misszenobell
Summary: Less than ideal circumstances force Elsie Burns to look for work, and a position as housekeeper at Downton Abbey may provide her with the opportunity she needs. Chelsie AU beginning in 1918.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! I'm back with another Chelsie fic!**

 **This AU begins in 1918, so events in this chapter are inspired by (but not necessarily the same as) events in Series 2 canon.**

 **Also for the purpose of this fic, I'm going to say Charles and Elsie are younger than they would be at this time in canon. So, I'm imagining Elsie to be in her late 30s in 1918 and Charles in his 40s ... I know that doesn't make sense, strictly speaking (as it would technically make them younger than Lord and Lady Grantham), but as this is a Chelsie-centric fic, the ages of other characters don't matter so much. Therefore, I hope you're willing to suspend any disbelief for the purpose of my little story – this is fanfic world after all! :)**

 **Enjoy! X**

* * *

 **October 1918**

Mr. Carson sat at his desk, trying valiantly to complete the wine ledgers in front of him. Usually he found satisfaction in this task, but today it seemed overwhelmingly tedious and his concentration dissolved in mere minutes. Rubbing his temples in frustration, he attempted to refocus, just as a sharp knock sounded on his pantry door.

 _Most likely Mrs. Patmor_ e.

Uncertain whether to be gratified or irked by the interruption, he looked up in time to see the well-meaning cook bustle in with a tea tray.

"I thought you could do with a break, and perhaps some company too," she said by way of greeting, already setting out two cups and pouring the tea in a manner that brooked no argument from the butler.

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore," acknowledged Mr. Carson, abandoning the bothersome ledgers and making his way over to the small table.

Over the past afternoons, Mrs. Patmore had taken to having a spot of tea with the butler. _In place of the housekeeper,_ he thought. It was a kind gesture on the cook's part and while she wasn't his equal in the same way a housekeeper would be, her visits provided Mr. Carson with some welcome companionship.

The cook and the butler chatted amiably as they sipped their tea, assiduously avoiding topics of any great consequence. Before long though, the conversation petered out into a grim silence, as their minds returned to the events of the last few weeks.

 _It had been the news of William and Mr. Crawley that had initially thrown the house (both upstairs and down) into turmoil. When the two men had finally returned from the front, a palpable sense of relief surrounded the Abbey, only to be replaced by shock and sadness when William hadn't made it through. Mr. Carson was certainly not one to form particular bonds with his troop of male servants; showing any fatherly affection would most surely be inappropriate. Even so, a deep-down part of him was proud of his lads and genuinely cared about them, and William's passing pained him a great deal more than he would admit._

 _As Mr. Crawley had begun his slow recovery upstairs, and the shock of William's death waned a little, tragedy had struck Downton once again. The dreaded influenza had swept through the downstairs quarters first, catching a few of the younger maids and footmen, as well as the housekeeper, Mrs. Ainsworth, and rendering them useless for days. Above the stairs, Lady Grantham had suffered the worst, but was carefully nursed back to health by a surprisingly-devoted Miss. O'Brien._

 _In the end, only Mrs. Ainsworth had fully succumbed to the flu's strong grip.* The woman's elderly body had simply been unable to fight it any longer, Mr. Carson supposed with a pang of sadness ..._

"Have you received anymore applications for the position of housekeeper then, Mr. Carson?" The cook's enquiry interrupted his gloomy reflections. Since Mrs. Ainsworth's sudden passing almost two weeks ago, they'd scrambled to place advertisements in the local shops and newspapers but were yet to find a suitable candidate.

"As a matter of fact, one arrived just this morning, though I doubt it will amount to much," he replied, raising his eyebrows sceptically. "The position of housekeeper requires high skill and I'm afraid there are few experienced women who would be willing to join as prestigious a house as Downton at this tumultuous time."

"Nevertheless, at least it would relieve Anna of the extra duties. The poor girl looks like she's about to collapse from exhaustion!" Mrs. Patmore had also noticed the heavy circles under _the butler's_ eyes, though she refrained from mentioning it to him at this moment.

"Hmm yes, that is one reason to employ someone sooner rather than later," conceded Mr. Carson with a nod. Up until now, the household had been hobbling along without a proper housekeeper, the majority of duties having been divided between Anna and Miss O'Brien. However, Mr. Carson suspected that Anna was bearing the brunt of the extra work and it was starting to take its toll on her.

"All I'm saying, is don't be too quick to dismiss the applicant simply because she doesn't reach every last one of your exacting standards," advised the forthright cook. "In times like these, we must be prepared to make sacrifices and take whatever comes our way, Mr. Carson." Collecting their empty teacups, she headed to his office door. "Anyhow, I'd best get on with dinner preparations."

Dragging himself up from the armchair with a tired sigh, Mr. Carson returned to his desk; those blasted ledgers certainly weren't going to write themselves.

* * *

The next week slipped by, each day slightly shorter than the last. Autumn was settling in and the cooler temperatures echoed the sombre atmosphere which still lingered over the Abbey.

Having finished his porridge, Mr. Carson stood up from the servant's table, signalling that breakfast was over and the day had officially begun. As the surrounding staff dispersed in a flurry of movement, his eyes landed on the empty chair to his right. Following the application last week, there had been no subsequent respondents to the advertisement for a new housekeeper. Therefore, the butler had decided to conduct an interview with the woman, who—he consulted his pocket watch— was due to arrive at Downton any minute now.

"Oh, Good Morning, Mr. Carson!" exclaimed Mrs. Patmore, as she entered the servants' hall and started clearing away breakfast dishes. "I didn't expect to find you in here still."

"As a matter of fact, I am awaiting the arrival of the housekeeper applicant. She's due here for an interview this morning. Although," he added, a disapproving frown crinkling his forehead, "she is currently a minute late."

"I suppose that's already a mark against her name in _your_ book, is it then?" joked Mrs. Patmore, knowing just how much the butler valued punctuality.

A loud chime rang out through the dining hall, and Mr. Carson turned to see the bell labelled _Back Door_ , swinging on its hook. "Ah, that'll be her now, I expect." He smoothed down his waistcoat and made to leave the room.

"Indeed." Mrs. Patmore continued to clean the table-top and load the dirty plates onto a tray. "And for the sake of all of us, I do hope she turns out to be suitable for the position," she remarked as he left.

Mr. Carson strolled down the hallway, hoping much the same thing himself.

* * *

"It would be highly … irregular, Mrs. Burns …" The butler perused the paperwork in front of him, his brow furrowed.

"I realise that, but I believe I could make it work."

Mr. Carson looked up to meet the steadfast gaze of the woman who sat opposite him. She was perhaps a few years younger than himself and wore a tidy, dark-green coat, her auburn hair pinned up neatly under a matching hat. Upon her arrival, Mr. Carson had been rather intrigued to find that she spoke with a lilting Scottish accent.

Despite her well-presented appearance and genuine demeanour, however, the butler could not get past one fact: she was married … _Or at least, she would be, had the late Mr. Burns not died on the Somme._

In his opinion, the house needed someone who could be fully devoted to the family, and he doubted that a widow with a young son was the ideal candidate for this.

"And what if your child were ill? This is a working household and as housekeeper it would be vital that you reside here full-time." he said, sounding slightly harsher than intended.

"Oh, that wouldn't be a problem, Mr. Carson. You see, Freddie received a scholarship to Ripon Grammar. She lowered her eyes for a moment, before glancing back up at him. "He's recently begun boarding there," she said, and Mr. Carson noted a hint of sadness in her voice at this last statement. He had never previously considered how life must be for young women like her; the widows of the country's defenders, who had lost their husbands and were now forced to look for work to support themselves and their children. Perhaps the poor woman was lonely, what with her husband gone and her child away at school …

"Well, there's nothing wrong with your references. But of course, they are from before you were married." Mr. Carson cleared his throat before continuing … "I'll discuss it with her Ladyship, and we will notify you of the outcome within the next few days," he finished formally.

"Thank you. I assure you that I am willing to do whatever I can to make this work." Pushing her chair back to stand up, she gave him a sincere smile; a smile which, for some reason, Mr. Carson couldn't help but return.

As he watched her leave, the butler found himself feeling oddly conflicted. On one hand, he was most definitely uneasy about employing the woman, given her circumstances. Yet she did seem highly competent and he thought, in terms of work-ethic, she might fulfil the housekeeper position quite nicely indeed.

He remembered back to the advice Mrs. Patmore had given him the week before: _in times like these, perhaps sacrifices must be made after all._

* * *

 ***In actual fact, the Spanish Flu mostly killed younger people (age 20-40). So, we'll just have to say that Mrs. Ainsworth was part of the unlucky minority...**

 **A/N: As you can see, Elsie's situation here is inspired by the backstory of housemaid, Jane, who appeared in Series 2 of DA. Don't worry though, unlike in canon, it won't be Robert who takes in interest in the new housekeeper... :)**

 **Please do review if you have time - any feedback is highly appreciated! x**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Apologies for the very lengthy delay - this chapter has been partially written for a long time, but after posting the first chapter my time and motivation to write went completely out the window! However, I have some spare time at the moment, so I do hope to continue this story.**

 **If you've forgotten what this story is about, you may want to take a look at the first chapter to provide some context before reading this one. Hope you enjoy! x**

* * *

Pale light had begun to filter through the skylight in her attic room by the time Elsie woke. Disorientated, she sat up quickly, eyes darting about the room in search of familiar shapes that might inform her of her whereabouts. The outline of the washstand in the corner jolted her memory, and in a rush of clarity she realised where she was.

Yawning, she climbed out of bed and quickly retrieved her dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around herself. No use in falling back to sleep when the scullery maid was sure to knock any minute now.

She scrubbed her face at the washbasin, before turning to the mirror to twist her hair into its intricate design. As she went about her morning routine, her mind wandered to the events of the past months.

She'd left the farm soon after receiving news of Joe's death. There seemed little point in keeping it once she'd known her husband would never return. Though if she was honest, it had been more than that. It had been the unbearable stillness of the cottage after Freddie had departed for boarding school, and the heavy ache in her heart every time she sat down to dinner alone. So, she'd sold the farm for a fair penny and moved to Ripon to be closer to Freddie. There she'd found temporary lodgings at an inn — hardly ideal, but at least she no longer had to to face an empty cottage day after day.

And now she was here at the Abbey. Downton. She was pleased, if a little surprised to have been chosen for the housekeeper position. After all, Mr. Carson's doubt about her suitability had been perfectly evident at the interview. Nevertheless, she'd gratefully accepted the offer, and having been at Downton almost a week now, she could feel herself settling into something resembling a routine.

 _And what is the life of a servant if not routine_ , she reflected drily, slotting her last hairpin into place.

* * *

The sound of raised voices prompted Downton Abbey's butler to set down his pen and abandon the ledgers he'd been working on. How on earth was he supposed to concentrate when it sounded as though the Battle of Towton was taking place outside his pantry? He rubbed his temples, trying in vain to discern exactly who was causing this disruption.

 _Most likely Mrs. Patmore is on the rampage again,_ he decided with an annoyed huff. While Downton's cook was a respected member of staff, she certainly wasn't known for her quiet temperament.

As the muffled shouting continued, albeit more quietly, Mr. Carson pushed back his chair and stood up, wondering which of the unfortunate kitchen maids had burnt the upstairs dinner _this_ time. Perhaps he ought to intervene before the poor girl expired from fear.

Exiting his office and making his way to the kitchen, he stopped short upon hearing distinct Scottish tones intermingled with Mrs. Patmore's shrieking.

 _Not a kitchen maid after all._

"Of course, if I were allowed the store cupboard key–"

"That is quite enough, Mrs. Patmore!" interrupted Mrs. Burns, the steely edge to her voice silencing the cook's tirade.

Clearly the new housekeeper was more than a match for the red-haired woman. Peering around the kitchen doorway, Mr. Carson saw her glaring ferociously at the cook.

 _A Scottish dragon indeed,_ he thought with an amused smirk.

"Now," Mrs. Burns continued in a more measured tone. "I will bring you the self-raising flour so that you can get on." She turned sharply on her heel, just as the butler moved forward to make his presence known.

"Oh! Mr. Carson, I beg your pardon!" she exclaimed, as they collided awkwardly. She stepped back quickly, her cheeks reddening at the realisation that he'd had most certainly heard her outburst.

"That's quite alright, Mrs. Burns. In fact, after you've fetched the flour, you might join me for afternoon tea in my office," he suggested. "That is, if Mrs. Patmore would be so kind as to fix us a tea tray." He raised his eyebrows expectantly at the still-fuming cook, who nodded, though Mr. Carson heard mutterings which sounded suspiciously like "O Great One" and "Mary, Queen of Scots".

"Very well," Mrs. Burns agreed, brushing past him on her way to the storeroom.

* * *

"I hope you have found your first week here satisfactory, Mrs. Burns," the butler enquired as he filled their teacups. Despite his initial prejudice, Mr. Carson's instinct had been right. The new housekeeper was proving quite proficient and he was extremely pleased with the way she had transitioned — almost seamlessly — into the household.

"I have, thank you Mr. Carson. Though Mrs. Patmore can be rather persistent, especially when it comes to the store-cupboard key," she replied with a slight smile.

"I'm afraid it's simply in her nature." _And it seems she's not the only stubborn woman around here anymore,_ he remarked to himself.

Their conversation soon turned to dinner menus and wine deliveries, as they went over the week's household matters. Although Mrs. Burns had grasped her new role remarkably well in such a short time, she was still learning the finer points of the Abbey's inner workings. Mr. Carson and Anna had been particularly helpful on that score, offering her useful bits of information whenever they could. On the other hand, surly Miss. O'Brien was doing her best to be as contrary as possible, pointing Mrs. Burns in the wrong direction, and making constant references to the previous housekeeper, Mrs. Ainsworth, whose methods were apparently far superior to Elsie's.

Having discussed the household business, they sipped their tea in silence for a few moments, both unsure of how to continue now that the meeting's purpose had been fulfilled.

Elsie took the opportunity to acquaint herself further with the butler's office. While it was a highly practical space, she could see he'd made it into his own over the years. Glancing around, she spotted a framed photograph of a young woman, an ornate mahogany clock, and a curious — in her opinion rather _ugly_ — stuffed fish in a glass case.

To the side of her armchair was a small bookshelf, containing two rows of neatly arranged books. Scanning their spines, her heart leapt as the title of a particularly worn volume caught her eye. _Oliver Twist_ had always been one of Freddie's favourite stories. In the days before the war Joe had often read it to him in the evenings. She remembered how she would enter the sitting room to find them curled up in front of the fire, her husband's steady brogue having lulled their young son to sleep...

"Mrs. Burns?" The butler interrupted her sentimental thoughts. "Are you quite alright?" he asked, and she detected genuine concern in his voice.

Swallowing hard, she quickly gathered herself.

"Of course, Mr. Carson. Only …" She hesitated a moment. Pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "Only, I couldn't help but notice your copy of _Oliver Twist_ there on the shelf … It brought back some memories, is all."

There was something oddly familiar in the tone of her voice and it took him a second to realise that it was the same sadness he'd heard during their first meeting, when she'd mentioned her son.

He suddenly longed to be able to comfort her in some way. To offer a few kind, hopeful words. Or to reach out and clasp the delicate pair of hands which were currently folded in her lap. He looked away, his gaze falling on the mantlepiece, where the photograph of Alice stood.

"The business of life is the acquisition of memories." He paused. "In the end that's all there is."

She tilted her head, studying him curiously. Wondering about the man who lay behind the stoic butler façade. His eyes were impassive, framed by those magnificent eyebrows, and his mouth was drawn into a serious line. Yet when she followed his gaze to the photograph of the young woman, she knew he'd momentarily drifted to a faraway place, somewhere deep in his own memories.

"I suppose you're right," she conceded finally, turning his melancholy words over again in her mind. "In the end that's all there is."

* * *

 **If you have a moment, please let me know what you thought!** x


End file.
